


Writing Letters

by Crowgirl



Series: Ordinary Things [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Ten Years Later, roughly speaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: Maybe he should’ve stuck with letters. But he never knows if Steve reads the letters or not -- maybe he doesn’t bother.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Dustin Henderson
Series: Ordinary Things [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079279
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Dustin takes a last poke at his hair, glowers at himself in the mirror, and firmly turns off the vanity light. He’s going to be here until morning if he does this much longer.

‘Dustin?’

‘Yeah, ma?’ 

‘Aren’t you going out, honey?’

‘Yeah.’ He debates his jean jacket, then decides for it. Nights get cold fast and, besides, Max said it looked good. Of the five of them, she was the only one with anything like fashion sense.

‘Oh.’

‘Why?’

‘Could you maybe stop and get some kibble for Jonesy?’ 

Dustin rolls his eyes and checks his pockets for his wallet. ‘Sure, ma. The same old stuff?’

‘Same old stuff.’ 

His mother looks up when Dustin walks into the living room and beams at him, the large ginger cat overflowing her lap so soundly asleep it can’t even be bothered to cock an ear in Dustin’s direction. ‘Don’t you look handsome!’

‘Aw, ma--’ Dustin ducks his head and ruffles Jonesy’s ears. 

‘Well, you do. Now who are you going out with tonight?’

‘I’m not going out with anyone, ma. I’m just meeting Steve for pizza.’

‘Steve.’ His mother frowns. ‘Which one is he again?’

‘The -- tall --’ Dustin waves a hand vaguely in the air and realizes he’s fallen into his childhood habit of making Steve double his own height. ‘Dark hair? Skinny? Used to go out with Mike’s sister?’ 

‘Oh, Steve.’ His mother nods although Dustin’s not sure he’s made it any clearer. She’s probably thinking of Jonathan Byers now, but he’s not gonna haul out yearbooks to make the point. ‘Well, have a good time, honey. Call if you’re going to be late.’ 

He nods, kisses her forehead, tugs Jonesy’s tail gently, and goes.

* * *

‘All right. It’s all right. We’re gonna be all right,’ Dustin repeats to himself, at first silently and then aloud as he pulls up in front of the Harrington house. ‘This is fine, this is cool, this is fine, this is great.’ 

‘Hey!’ 

Dustin yelps and nearly whacks his head on the roof of the car.

‘Sorry, man--’ Steve pulls the passenger side door open and sticks his head in. ‘I thought you saw me.’ 

‘Nope, no, did not see you,’ Dustin says, hoping the uncomfortable hammering of his heart doesn’t come through in his voice.

‘Right.’ Steve drops into the seat and shuts the door with a bang. ‘So. Where we going?’

‘Uh--’

‘There’s a great pizza place opened up behind the high school -- I think it’s new since the last time you were here.’ 

‘Sure, sounds good.’ 

‘Okay, cool. Head for school, then.’ Steve’s grin flashes in the streetlight and he elbows Dustin in the ribs. ‘Just like old times, huh?’

 _Oh, shit._ ‘Yup.’ Dustin swallows. ‘Just like old times.’ 

* * *

Dustin has to resist the urge to run for the men’s room as soon as they get inside. He’s convinced -- absolutely _convinced_ \-- that every one of his teenage pimples has come back twice as bad, his hair is one big tangle, there’s spinach in his teeth, and he accidentally put on that yellow shirt that brings out his freckles. 

Steve grabs his elbow and steers him towards a table in the corner, by the windows and Dustin lets himself be placed: it’s practice, he tells himself, in letting someone he’s desperately attracted to touch him in a non-meaningful way. Like _not_ spending the night -- when Steve was curled up and snoring gently on his dorm room floor -- watching Steve sleep was practice. Maybe he should’ve stuck with writing letters. Taken the little added distance his last, insanely busy semester of regular classes had made and just -- not gone to the dealership when he got back into town on Monday.

* * *

_Dustin wanders aimlessly around the showroom for a few minutes, aware that the salesmen are watching and adding him up and probably coming to a total they don’t like. He knows he looks like exactly what he is: a broke-ass college kid trying like hell to get another month’s wear out of a pair of hightops that probably should have gone in the trash last month._

_He draws out reading through a couple of spec sheets -- he’s never going to be able to afford a new car; now he understands why Mr Clarke still drives a ‘70s Honda -- and glances around one last time._

_‘---it’s not so bad, is it?’_

_He’ll be embarrassed later that, even in public, the voice zings straight down the back of his neck and makes his palms sweat._

_‘Yes, sir, that’s the latest and greatest you’ve got right there---’ Steve sounds different now, crisp, and business-like. When he speaks again, it’s the first tone, calm and friendly: ‘What about this?’_

_Dustin walks towards the voice._

_‘Yeah, there you go -- yes, sir, full warranty and-- What’s that?’ Steve’s down on one knee, suit trousers getting irrevocably wrinkled, trying to listen to something a small blonde girl is telling him. She’s making a meal out of it, whatever it is: a full operatic performance. Dustin guesses it’s her dad in the car: a gleaming Corvette with all the trimmings. If he’s being honest, the car comes a definite second in his attention: he hasn’t seen Steve in over six months. He looks thinner than the last time he had crashed on Dustin’s dorm room floor for a weekend concert. Maybe paler, too, although that could be the fluorescents in the dealership._

_The little girl tugs on Steve’s hand as he turns to say something to her father and he turns back to her immediately. ‘Tell me again, sweetheart.’_

‘Mister _Harrington--’ The guy in the car is definitely irritated which Dustin doesn’t get at all. If it’s his kid, why isn’t he looking after her? Where’s his wife?_

_‘Yes, yes, sorry, sir--’ Steve pushes himself to his feet, leaving the girl to scowl up at him and, if Dustin’s any judge, work herself up to a universe-beating tantrum._

_‘Hey--’ He doesn’t even think, really; like most of his best or worst moments, he just sort of… goes and the next thing he knows, he’s knelt down next to the girl and tapped her on the shoulder. She turns to him, still mostly scowl and pouty mouth. ‘Cars are boring, right?’_

_She rolls her eyes and makes a game attempt to cross her arms but mostly ends up grabbing her elbows. ‘So boring.’_

_‘D’you wanna play a game while they do boring stuff?’ Dustin jerks his chin at Steve and her dad and fumbles in his jacket pockets, praying he’s stuffed something in there he can work with._

_She gives him a dubious look but nods. ‘What games d’you have?’_

_Dustin doesn’t dare look up at the other two men again, just hauls out the magnets and paperclips from his pocket and sets to work giving an elementary lesson in attraction and repulsion. He hears the moment of silence that had started when he spoke to the kid last for a moment, then the girl’s dad clearly decides his child is taken care of and starts on Steve again. Dustin can’t hear the words -- he’s too busy thinking about the kid’s questions which are actually pretty decent -- but he can hear the tone and it’s one he knows and hates: why aren’t you telling me what_ I _want to hear, why aren’t you doing what_ I _want you to do. He silently awards Steve several gold medals for not knocking the man’s lights out._

_‘---I’m afraid that’s just not good enough. Come on, Sylvia.’_

_The girl is swooped up off the floor without a moment’s warning. She has time to lean back over her dad’s arm and Dustin stuffs the magnet and paperclips into her open hands before they’re both gone._

_‘Well,’ he says in the moment of ringing silence. ‘That was. Fun.’_

_Steve’s muttering under his breath and gives the tire of the car a kick. ‘... goddamned sonuvabitching--’ He kicks the tire again, looks up at Dustin, then blinks. ‘Hey -- hey, man, I thought it was you--!’ He reaches forward as if to give Dustin a hug, then thinks better of it, then thinks better of that and slaps him on the shoulder. ‘What are you doin’ back here?’_

_‘Steven!’_

_‘Aw, shit.’ The pleasure, the open-ness drains out of Steve’s expression as though someone had opened a plug and he braces his shoulders. ‘Look, man, I gotta -- uh, hey, how long are you in town?’_

_‘All fall, I’m doing my student teaching at the--’ There’s a loud and significant throat-clearing somewhere behind Dustin and Steve practically pales. ‘I don’t want to be in the way -- maybe we could just get pizza sometime?’_

* * *

And now here they are on Thursday. All prepared to have pizza. 

‘How’d it go on Monday?’ Dustin makes himself ask the question to break the silence that started to gather after they sat down. 

‘Monday -- oh.’ Steve’s mouth turns down, then he shrugs, his expression turning bland. ‘Eh. Dad wasn’t exactly delighted with me.’ He picks up his knife and twiddles it between his fingers like a drumstick. ‘What else is new, right?’ Before Dustin can say anything, though, Steve drops the knife and leans forward, thumping Dustin on the shoulder. ‘But, hey, what about you? You’re the one who’s been out in the big wide world! How’s that going?’ 

Dustin blinks. ‘It’s -- I mean -- it’s going.’ It’s not like much has changed in six months’ time. He’s told Steve in letters about the arguments with his department over where he should do his student teaching, how he’d needed to swap advisors when his first one was denied tenure. But he never knows if Steve reads the letters or not -- maybe he doesn’t bother. ‘Pretty much the same as the last time you came to visit. It’s college, right?’ 

Steve shrugs, still grinning, although the brilliance is dialed down a notch. ‘I dunno, man, you tell me.’ 

‘Things with your dad are…the same?’ Steve took the dealership job a couple of months after he graduated high school but Dustin had always thought it was a stepping stone, a pause before Steve went on to something bigger and better because -- that’s what he was doing, right? Steve was always on his way to something bigger and better. Dustin had been expecting for three years to hear that 

Steve had moved out, moved on, moved up. 

‘Yeah, well…’ Steve picks up the knife again, rapping the tip on the table to some beat only he can hear. ‘You get into doing somethin’, y’know, and you just kinda… keep on doin’ it.’ 

‘So -- I mean -- do you like it?’ Dustin says cautiously. ‘You’ve been there awhile now.’ 

The knife slips out of Steve’s fingers and he stares at Dustin for a minute, then shakes his head. ‘Shit, man, we’re gonna need beer.’ 

* * *

‘..and there we are, me with a can of fucking helium and Mike’s got this box full of I don’t even know what--’ 

Steve is laughing, chair pushed back from the table, hands limp at his sides, head thrown back. 

‘--and the lights come on, right? And that TA I told you about that we just _know_ hates our guts is standing at the door just _staring_ at us --’ Dustin mugs what he remembers Adam’s expression to have been and Steve nearly chokes. ‘--and Mike looks like he’s about ready to piss his pants and Adam says, d’you want any help with that?’ 

‘What? No, you’re shittin’ me--’ 

Dustin holds up both hands. ‘Swear to God. D’you want any help with that.’ 

‘What’d you say?’ Steve leans forward, still out of breath, cheeks red from laughing. 

Dustin shrugs and grins. ‘Sure. We filled the student GOP office with blown-up condoms. It was great.’ 

Steve shakes his head admiringly. ‘Jesus, you are the luckiest little fucker--’ 

‘Hey, guys--’ The cashier is standing next to them, hands on her hips. ‘Sorry to do this to you but it’s time to close up.’ 

‘Oh -- damn, sorry--’ Dustin starts to scramble the remains of their meal together as if he was in the cafeteria at school and she puts a hand on his arm. 

‘No, no, no, don’t bother. I can do that. I just can’t let you hang out any longer.’ She gives an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry.’ 

‘No problem,’ Steve says, levering himself out of his chair. ‘But, hey, any chance you could set us up a six-pack to go?’ 

* * *

And so they wind up here, on the edge of the wild land, not far from Will’s old house, perched on the hood of Dustin’s mom’s car, drinking warm beer out of cans and staring out into the darkness. It’s starting to turn chill and Dustin’s glad for the long-sleeved river-driver’s shirt he has on under his jacket. 

‘So what’s it been like around here?’ Dustin says after the silence has gone on long enough to become comfortable. He hasn’t spent longer than two weeks at a time in Hawkins since he left for Terre Haute. Coming back to spend a whole semester feels like he needs to settle himself back in the town, re-seat himself somehow. 

Steve is silent for a long minute, then he takes a long drink from the can and sets it down on the bumper between his feet. ‘Quiet. Like it was...y’know, before.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Dustin nods. ‘So nothing -- weird?’ 

‘Nah. Well -- every now and then something in a field will go funny, start turning black or something, but El always seems to come visit just when that happens and--’ Steve shrugs. ‘She does whatever she does and we’re okay again.’ 

‘Yeah. She’s good at that.’ 

‘She okay with it?’ 

‘I guess so. She’s never said.’ None of them have ever asked would be more honest. It’s just the understood thing that it’s something El has to do. So she does it. Steve nods, shrugs, and takes another pull of beer. A chill breeze passes over them and Dustin shrugs deeper into his jacket and glances sideways at the light windbreaker Steve has on. It can’t possibly be warm enough. 

‘So what’s up with you?’ Steve looks at him for a minute, then grins again, reaches out and ruffles his fingers through Dustin’s hair, sending a sparkle straight down Dustin’s spine. ‘Y’don’t need my beauty advice now. You must be fightin’ ‘em off with a stick.’ 

‘Uh-- no, not -- not really.’ Steve mimes shock and Dustin’s mouth goes dry. 

‘Well, if you were lookin’ for advice on girls…’ Steve shakes his head. ‘I’m not your guy.’ 

‘But you used to be the one fighting them off with a stick.’ Not that Steve had fought very much, as Dustin remembered. 

Steve shrugs, drains his beer and drops the can in the grass. ‘Yeah, well, after Nance, I just… It didn’t happen.’ 

‘I’m -- sorry,’ Dustin offers, although he’s pretty sure he isn’t. After all, it isn’t like Steve’s been pining away for _him,_ podgy little Dustin Henderson with the freaky teeth and too much hair. Even now when the teeth aren’t such a thing and he’s grown into his hair and he’s put some wear on the free weights in the college gym, Steve just doesn’t swing his way and Dustin’s made peace with it. Mostly. Except for a few late nights and some early mornings and the occasional Saturday when it would be nice to have someone to lean against while he eats French toast. 

And when he comes back to Hawkins and just can’t pretend anymore. 

‘And...and…’ Steve pauses like he’s building up to something, then shrugs again. ‘Yeah. It just didn’t happen.’ 

‘Me, either,’ Dustin says which isn’t quite true but close enough. 

‘No cute science geek chicks out there?’ 

‘Uh, well…’ 

‘I mean, why _did_ you come looking for me at work on Monday?’ 

‘Uh -- well -- we -- we’re buddies. I thought. I mean.’ Dustin shuts his mouth firmly. His last letter had been three months ago and he hadn’t seen Steve for six months before that -- Maybe Steve’s been trying to let him down easy this whole time and Dustin’s just been too stupid-- ‘I mean, you came down for that Sabbath show, but--’ He laughs, trying to make it sound light. ‘You’re not great about answering letters.’ 

‘I read ‘em. Kept ‘em all, too. Your letters, I mean,’ Steve adds as though there were a chance Dustin would be confused. 

‘So why didn’t you answer?’ 

‘What was I gonna say?’ Steve mimes writing on the air in front of him. ‘Hey, Dustin, how’s it going? Hawkins is exactly like you remember it. The world hasn’t tried to end lately. I hate working for my dad--’ He stops himself abruptly, makes a dissatisfied noise, and drops his hand. 

‘I knew you didn’t like it!’ Dustin thumps his fist on his knee. 

‘Yeah, well…’ Steve shrugs. ‘Doesn’t matter much, does it? A job’s a job.’ 

‘Bull! Remember my senior year? When I didn’t want to go to college? I said I was just gonna stay with my mom and get a job out at the labs? Sweep floors or something?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, I remember--’ 

‘And what did you tell me?’ 

‘Fuck, I don’t know -- Jesus, Dustin, that was three years ago!’ 

‘You told me that this was my chance to get out and see if I liked it. If I didn’t, I could come back, but I should at least go out and try.’ 

‘Yeah, okay, so, and?’ 

_‘And_ that if I didn’t, I’d end up doing something I _had_ to do instead of something I _wanted_ to do.’ 

Steve’s silent for a minute, then shakes his head and takes another mouthful of beer. ‘Nah, I never said that. That’s way too smart.’ 

‘No -- no!’ Dustin pushes himself off the hood and turns around to stand in front of Steve, prodding him in the chest as he speaks. _‘You_ said it -- we were standing out in the school parking lot, right under the trees down by the road.’ 

Steve blinks at him. ‘Uh -- okay. That’s specific.’ 

Dustin can feel his ears burning but it’s dark, so at least Steve can’t see. ‘It -- it was important.’ 

‘Okay,’ Steve says, almost cautiously. ‘I mean. Yeah. I’m -- I’m glad it helped you.’ 

‘I’m gay.’ The words seem to ring in the air and Dustin swallows hard against a sudden urge to vomit. 

‘Uh,’ Steve says. 

It’s the fourth time Dustin has said those words aloud and he’s still not used to hearing them. The first time it had felt like a death sentence: his mom had cried, he hadn’t known what to say, and it had taken two days for his mom to stop sniffling whenever she looked at him.

The second time, Mike and Lucas and Will, had been a lot easier: Mike immediately started reeling off books that Dustin had to read; Lucas turned bright red and said nothing; Will just smiled. Telling Lucas was the same as telling Max so the only other person had been El; she hugged him, then stepped back and looked at him for a long moment, then nodded and asked if he wanted to walk with her to class. 

This time is shaping up to be way more like the first than he had hoped and the nausea isn’t getting better. ‘I, uh -- I wanted to tell you.’ 

‘Uh. Yeah.’ Steve shakes his head sharply and rubs his temples. ‘Yeah, I -- I mean -- I -- have no idea what to say.’ The words come out of him in a rush and he laughs awkwardly. ‘I mean -- no-one’s ever -- told me -- something like that. Before.’ He stops but before Dustin can say anything, he goes on again in a rush: ‘I mean, it’s fine. It’s cool, whatever. I -- I don’t -- care or -- I -- is that what I’m supposed to say?’ 

‘I--’ 

‘I mean, that sounds kinda rotten. ‘I don’t care.’ Like I don’t care if -- if you’re happy or not and, hey, man, honestly? After the shit we went through? You could be into three-ways with sets of identical twins and you’d deserve it.’ 

Dustin blinks. ‘That -- uh --’ 

‘And it’s not like I don’t _care_ \-- I mean, I don’t _not_ \-- ugh, _fuck.’_ Steve stops himself, coughs, takes a deep breath. ‘If you’re happy, I’m happy. That’s what I’m saying. Whatever you want, man, it’s cool with me.’ 

Like with distracting the girl at the dealership, Dustin doesn’t think, he just _goes_ and the touch is so quick he barely registers the warmth of Steve’s lips. 

Steve stares at him, eyes wide enough to see even in the dim, and slowly raises one hand to touch his mouth. 

‘I, shit.’ Dustin takes a deep breath to keep himself from gasping for air, adrenaline fizzing through him and urging him either to turn and run or tackle Steve onto the hood of the car. ‘Steve, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t be pissed, okay? I won’t -- I won’t touch you.’ He takes a step back and holds his hands up by his shoulders to prove the point. ‘But I just, I -- I’ve _known_ I had a crush on you for two years and -- and then before that, I -- and I just --’ 

‘...two years?’ Steve echoes faintly. 

‘Uh. Yeah.’ Dustin pauses and licks his lips; there’s a faint flavor of mint wax which isn’t him and isn’t the beer and therefore must be--- The thought makes him faintly lightheaded. ‘It’s...it’s lame, I know.’ He screws up his shoulders, jamming his hands in his pockets. 

Steve’s eyebrows go up. ‘Lame?’ 

‘It’s just -- you were so -- cool to me during the whole --’ Dustin waves a hand to indicate the tunnels, the creatures, the black snow, Dart, Will’s second brush with the void. ‘Everything and then after -- you talked to me and then we hung out when you had that job at the mall and--’ 

‘Because I _talked_ to you?’ 

Dustin can feel himself blushing. ‘Sorta. I guess. I mean. Maybe...I mean, I think that’s how it started.’ If that was how it started, then it continued because Steve also listened and Dustin always had the impression that Steve heard slightly more than he, Dustin, had said. Like Steve understood just a little more than Dustin was able to say aloud. ‘Fuck, look, I’m sorry--’ 

‘Stop.’ Steve holds up both hands. ‘Stop _apologizing.’_

Dustin forces himself to stop and take a deep breath, unplug his shoulders from his ears. ‘You’re not pissed?’ 

‘I am not pissed,’ Steve confirms, dropping his hands to his knees and scrubbing his palms gently against his thighs. ‘I mean -- I mean, fuck, man, it’s kinda flattering, right? Two years.’ He reaches out and shoves Dustin’s shoulder gently. 

Dustin swallows. ‘Yeah.’ Disappointment tastes thick and bitter in the back of his throat and he tells himself he’s being so fucking _stupid._ It wasn’t as though he’d thought it would go any differently -- he’s _lucky,_ he’s _so_ goddamned lucky that Steve isn’t angry, hadn’t _punched_ him, for fuck’s sake, or just shoved him in the ditch and _left_ him, literally ditched, with an three-mile walk back to town at ten o’clock at night. But he’s still got a bitter taste in the back of his throat. 

Steve’s still gently running his palms back and forth along his thighs, not looking up at Dustin anymore. ‘I -- uh -- I -- hooked up with Billy once.’ 

Dustin blinks. ‘Max’s _brother?’_

‘Yup.’ 

‘He beat the crap out of you!’ 

‘Yup.’ 

‘And you -- what -- why! When!’ 

Steve shrugs. ‘’We were at the same bar. You had just taken off for college. I guess -- I guess we both hit the horny stage of being drunk at the same time.’ He shrugs and laughs and Dustin’s guessing it’s meant to sound careless, but it just sounds strained. ‘Wasn’t much. Ten minutes in a bathroom stall.’ 

‘Been there,’ Dustin says, with more feeling than judgment, but he can’t regret it too much because Steve laughs, natural-sounding this time. 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Oh, yeah.’ 

‘Guess we’ve all got to be there a time or two,’ Steve says and goes silent. 

Dustin scrambles back onto the hood, tipping his head back to look at the stars. The sky is bright here, clear in a way it isn’t in Terre Haute. 

‘Two years,’ Steve says thoughtfully, jolting Dustin back to reality. 

‘Uh.’ 

‘Even when I didn’t answer your letters, you kept writing.’ 

‘You were listening,’ Dustin says before he can stop himself and winces, squeezing his eyes shut. 

But Steve just says, ‘Yeah, I guess I was,’ and jolts the car by sliding off the hood, landing with a thump on the dry ground. 

Dustin swallows and swallows again and opens his eyes, but he isn’t expecting to find Steve almost toe to toe with him, regarding him with a thoughtful tilt of the head. 

‘Two years,’ Steve says again and it’s beginning to be a little irritating. Dustin can’t tell from his voice if he’s trying to poke fun or be insulting or what. ‘Deserves a little more of a test drive, don’t you think.’ 

Dustin can’t tell if it’s a question or a comment and he means to ask but the feeling of Steve’s hand on his cheek steals the words. His mouth goes dry which he doesn’t remember happening the first time someone touched his _cock,_ for fuck’s sake, but Steve Harrington standing six inches away and touching his face so lightly Dustin can only just feel his fingertips has silenced every word in his head. And he’s trying to figure out where they all went when Steve leans forward, so slowly that Dustin has time to take in his face coming into sharp focus, and then out of all focus when Steve presses their lips together again. 

Dustin hears himself exhale through his nose, short and sharp, and he grabs onto the edge of the hood to keep himself from grabbing onto Steve. Steve doesn’t seem to have the same worry, shuffling closer until their knees bump. His free hand comes up to catch Dustin’s shoulder. 

When they break apart, Dustin’s lips are tingling, slick and burning. Steve doesn’t go far, just enough that Dustin can see him carefully lick his lips, tongue lingering for a moment at one corner of his mouth. He tilts his head slightly as he realises Dustin’s watching him. ‘Beats the hell out of ten minutes in a bar bathroom, I’ll tell you that.’ 

‘Two kisses?’ Dustin says and, _wow,_ when did his voice start sounding like that? 

Steve shrugs and grins. ‘It’s the quality, not the quantity.’ 

Dustin stares at him because that -- that would imply -- is Steve trying to say -- 

‘Wow, okay, so while you’re thinking about that…,’ Steve finally mutters and presses forward again, one hand still on Dustin’s shoulder, the other finding his waist just above his belt. 

Dustin keeps his hands clamped on the edge of the hood until Steve pulls back to catch his breath and reaches down to uncurl Dustin’s fingers, turning his wrist and pressing their hands against his own shoulder. 

‘Jesus -- Steve --’ Dustin’s out of breath, like he’s been running from demidogs, from gorgons, from the whole damned Upside Down and he’d be embarrassed about that but he really doesn’t have the spare attention for humiliation right now. ‘I -- I didn’t -- you don’t -- I mean, you don’t have to--’ 

Steve shakes his head, eyes wide. ‘Oh, no, fuck that. This is the first thing I’ve wanted to do in for-fucking- _ever.’_ And he dives back for Dustin’s mouth like Dustin is water and he’s parched. By the time they break apart the next time, Dustin has the fingers of his free hand wound back through Steve’s hair, Steve’s hand has slid to the small of Dustin’s back, pulling him forward against Steve’s hip, and it’s taking a lot of effort for Dustin not to start humping Steve’s thigh. 

‘Ha, fuck…’ Steve is breathing through his nose, long gulps of air, his eyes pinched tight shut, his mouth half-open, his lips slick and shining. He is quite possibly the sexiest thing Dustin has ever seen and that includes the pirated Skinemax in the dorm his sophomore year. ‘Fuck, Dust, I…’ 

‘Dust?’ Dustin echoes and watches Steve’s cheekbones go splotchy with color. 

‘Uh… yeah. Dust.’ Steve takes a deep breath and scrubs at the back of his head. ‘It’s, uh -- what I call you in my head.’ 

Dustin can’t think. Steve calls him something _in his head._ Steve has a _special name for him in his head._

‘I, uh, I wrote answers. To your letters.’ 

‘What!’ 

‘I didn’t mail ‘em,’ Steve scoffs, as though his reasoning should be obvious to the meanest intelligence. ‘Not -- not the real ones, I mean.’ 

‘But -- I --’ Dustin has an old manila envelope with Steve’s few letters in a box under his bed with the old notebooks that are the closest things he has to diaries and a couple _Playgirls._

‘You can have ‘em if you want,’ Steve offers, his gaze apparently riveted to Dustin’s collarbone. 

‘I -- what did you write?’ 

Steve shrugs awkwardly. ‘You said you thought I was listening so -- I don’t know, ‘s’what I heard. I guess. I don’t know, man, they -- I kept feeling like there was something I was supposed to do for you and I’d forgotten what it was.’ He bites his lower lip hard for a moment -- Dustin wants to reach out and kiss the two indents left in the tender skin -- then hauls his eyes up to Dustin’s. ‘I was waiting for you to come back. I think.’ 

Dustin swallows. ‘Steve, you -- look, I don’t want--’ 

‘No, no, hey--’ And then Steve’s slipping his hand loose, stepping _back,_ stepping _away,_ running his hands back through his hair and giving Dustin the same careless grin he gives everyone. ‘It’s cool, it’s cool, I get it.’ 

‘What?’ Dustin demands, suddenly cold along his front where the warmth of Steve’s body had been. ‘What do you get?’ 

Steve’s grin falters. ‘I mean -- you’re not coming back _here,_ are you. You’ve got -- like, a career and a life and -- and you’ve got shit to _do,_ man.’ He reaches out as if to punch Dustin’s shoulder again, but the gesture falters and falls short. 

Dustin takes a deep breath. ‘I’m coming back. I’m doing my student teaching here this fall and after I graduate I’m coming back so I can look after my mom. She’s not doing so great on her own. All I _meant,’_ he goes on, leaning on the word as heavily as he can so Steve will have no option but to understand, ‘is that I -- I don’t want you to do something you’re -- not happy about tomorrow. Or think you _have_ to do something. Or whatever.’ 

Steve stares at him for a long moment. ‘Did you just tell me you’ll still respect me in the morning?’ 

‘What?’ 

Steve shakes his head hard, like someone trying to get water out of their ears. ‘God, now I know why girls looked at me funny when I said that. Jesus, I must’ve sounded stupid.’ 

Dustin throws his hands in the air. ‘Great. Good. Glad to know I sound stupid.’ The buzz from the closeness and the kissing and Steve maybe possibly _being into_ this is rapidly dying in the face of the chill of the night and Steve’s apparent determination to make no sense whatsoever. He wraps his arms over his chest, digging his hands in under his arms. 

Steve groans and shakes his head. ‘You were always saying that -- drove me nuts. That your ideas were stupid or what you were saying was stupid or _you_ were stupid and just for the record, yeah? You _never_ were, okay? Not once.’ 

‘Okay, so I’m not stupid, I just _sound_ stupid.’ And whiny, Dustin adds mentally. 

Steve takes a deep, slow breath and, carefully, as if Dustin might take fright, steps back to _almost_ where he had been before, close enough that Dustin would barely have to straighten his arm to touch him. ‘I’m not good at talking, okay? You know that. Why the hell do you think I wrote you a box full of letters!’ 

‘How am I supposed to know when you _didn’t send them!’_

Steve winces. ‘Yeah, okay, slight flaw in the plan, I admit but--’ 

‘And you can’t just -- just _say_ things like you were _waiting_ for me and -- and writing _letters_ to me and just -- expect me to get it!’ Dustin flails in an attempt to indicate by sheer movement what he means. ‘I don’t get it, Steve, okay? I don’t get it. You were _waiting_ for me? Like, what, this is some kind of fucking fairytale?’ He leaves out the part where the idea makes his heart clench in his chest so hard it hurts. 

Steve looks at him for a long minute, then shakes his head slowly. ‘Dustin -- I don’t know. It felt like you were talking to me. That’s all I know. So I listened. Because I’m not good at lots of shit but I’m good at listening.’ 

‘And so you -- what, went gay for me long-distance?’ Dustin tries to laugh but he thinks it comes out a bit strangled. 

Steve shrugs, looking remarkably unconcerned. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ 

Dustin sags, coming down on the hood of the car hard enough to make the springs squeak. ‘What the fuck, Steve.’ 

‘Look, does this have to be a huge _thing?_ I mean, I like kissing you, you like kissing me -- that’s easy, right?’ 

‘I want to see these letters,’ Dustin says abruptly, startling himself. Steve blinks, then nods. 

‘Okay. Sure. They’re yours anyway, I guess. They’re at my place -- is that okay or are we going to have to have some kind of philosophical discussion about that, too?’ Steve rummages in Dustin’s jacket pocket for a heart-stopping moment, then dangles the car keys in front of Dustin’s face. 

‘Fuck you, man,’ Dustin groans and grabs the keys; it must be his imagination that he hears Steve say, ‘We’ll see.’ 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve’s apartment is a little messier than the last time Dustin had been there over a year ago, crashing on the futon in the living room to surprise his mom on her birthday. The walls aren’t any brighter: a sort of dingy off-white that does little to relieve the industrial gray carpeting that’s cut off raggedly around the baseboards. There’s a short hall from the front door to the bedroom in the back, the living room opens immediately to the left, and the kitchen and bathroom beyond that. There are only high narrow windows because they are, technically, underground.

There are two old pizza boxes by the end of the futon, a pile of junk mail on the coffee table, two open boxes of cereal on the kitchen counter, and a dress shirt hanging over the back of one of the two old upright wooden chairs.

‘Uh -- sorry,’ Steve says, rubbing at the back of his neck. ‘Wasn’t really expecting company.’

‘Dude, remember my freshman roommate? I’ll never think a room is messy again,’ Dustin says fervently. Ken had been a nice guy but absolutely incapable of putting the same thing in the same place twice. 

Steve laughs. ‘Yeah, I remember him. Dropped out, didn’t he?’

‘Yeah.’ The silence that falls isn’t exactly awkward, but it isn’t comfortable either. Dustin shoves his hands deep into his jacket pockets and tries not to shuffle his feet while Steve seems to be surveying his tiny apartment for something. Finally, Dustin clears his throat and Steve starts.

‘Right! Right, yeah, uh -- why don’t you -- hang in the kitchen for a minute and I’ll --’ He waves a hand towards his bedroom. 

Dustin makes a mock salute and Steve disappears down the dim hall. 

* * *

Dustin takes the liberty of folding the dress shirt and putting it on the futon before he sets the kettle on and starts digging around for tea and mugs. Steve drinks coffee but doesn’t like it, so there has to be something other than the jar of Folgers Instant. 

By the time Steve comes in, Dustin has two mugs of Constant Comment brewing and has taken his jacket off, draping it where the shirt had been. ‘Here.’ He holds out one mug to Steve.

Steve doesn’t seem to catch on for a minute, staring at Dustin, then blinks, shakes himself, and takes the mug. ‘Thanks. Uh -- here. I guess.’ He holds out a shoebox that shows signs of a rapid dusting. The shoebox doesn’t shake but Dustin can see Steve holding his arm steady.

‘It can’t be _that_ bad,’ Dustin says, taking the box in both hands. ‘I mean -- you didn’t punch me earlier, right?’ He means it as a joke but Steve’s face darkens instantly and he stops in the middle of pulling out the other chair for himself.

‘Someone _punched_ you?’

‘No, but -- I mean -- you could have.’ 

‘Gee. Thanks. Love the faith.’ 

Dustin rolls his eyes, sitting down with the box in front of him. ‘I didn’t think you _would._ It was just -- one of the possibilities.’

Steve drops into his chair. ‘Yeah, no, not really.’ 

Dustin takes the top off the box. It’s full, right to the brim, his last campus address written neatly on the top envelope. ‘Whoa.’

Steve grins, his nervousness clear in how he can’t stop tapping at the handle of his mug. ‘I just -- wrote when I felt like it. They’re in order, sort of.’

Dustin runs his finger under the flap of the top envelope, the one with his most recent address. It isn’t gummed, Steve hadn’t gone that far. He pulls out the folded sheet, a little disappointed to find it was only one. He hadn’t had a lot of time to picture what these letters might look like, but he realises now he’d had some vague vision of letters like packages, jammed tight with all the words Steve hadn’t said over three years. 

He unfolds the sheet, presses it flat against the tabletop. _Hey, Dust, you’ll be home soon, I guess,_ are the first words. _End of the semester and all. Your last letter didn’t say if you were coming back to Hawkins or not but -- I guess I hope you are. Even if just for a little while before you set off to whatever cool-ass thing you’re going to be doing over the summer. I hope you tell me about it. I hope you keep coming back to visit your mom so I might get to see you every now and then._

Dustin swallows hard. ‘Why didn’t you send these?’ 

Steve takes a sip of tea and shrugs. ‘Dunno.’ He summons up a grin but it looks a little weak. ‘Didn’t want to look too gay, I guess.’ 

Dustin looks back down at the letter, then looks up again when the clock on the wall starts to chime. ‘Shit. Can I use your phone?’

* * *

It only takes about five minutes to call home, talk to his mom, reassure her about the kibble (which he hasn’t actually bought yet), and come back to the kitchen, but when Dustin comes back in, the letters are in neat stacks on the table, the shoebox on the floor by Steve’s feet. 

Steve gestures at the piles. ‘Thought I could make it easy for you.’ He doesn’t look at Dustin and he’s bouncing his foot on the floor: heel, toe, heel, toe. Dustin wants to put a hand on his knee, tell him to stop, whatever he’s worrying about isn’t real, isn’t going to happen. Whatever the fuck this all is -- and Dustin is starting to feel that tiny, warm spark deep inside himself that he’s learned to trust over the years that tells him it isn’t bad, might be okay, might be _good_ \-- they’ll work it out. 

Instead, he sits back down and looks for the earliest date. 

* * *

Dustin gets through the letters from 1990 before he has to stop, pinching at the bridge of his nose so he won’t cry or laugh hysterically, he’s not sure which.

He can remember some of his own letters that come in between, how he’d written so very carefully to give nothing away, say nothing that could make Steve suspicious or give him reason to tell Dustin to get lost the next time he was in town and suggested they see a movie together. 

But this -- he never thought of this. Steve sitting here, in Hawkins, in that dank, oil-smelling hole over his dad’s garage or in this lightless little flat, and writing _these._

Steve swallows, the click of his throat loud in the silent kitchen. ‘Yeah, so… I mean… You don’t -- you don’t have to read ‘em all, man. Just -- it’s fine.’ 

Dustin looks up, incredulous. ‘It’s -- Steve, it is _not_ fucking fine!’

Just for a moment, a matter of bare seconds, Steve’s careful expression breaks and Dustin sees something he can’t immediately categorize: it’s almost fear, almost misery but it’s gone so quickly he’s not sure if he saw anything.

‘No...no, I guess...uh, I guess not,’ Steve says slowly, closing his hands around his tea mug.

Dustin takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and holds it for a minute, then lets it go in a long sigh. When he opens his eyes again, Steve’s looking at him, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. ‘We are fucking _stupid,_ man.’ 

‘We -- what?’ 

Dustin grabs up a handful of letters and lets them shower down over the table. ‘You wrote me a box of goddamned _love letters_ and you never _sent_ them so I couldn’t send any _back!’_

Color floods Steve’s face and he clearly can’t decide where to look: at the table, the tea, Dustin’s hands, Dustin’s face. 

Dustin ruffles through the scatter of envelopes until he finds the first one again and rips the flap in pulling out the folded piece of paper inside. He shakes out the single sheet and holds it at arms-length, clears his throat. ‘Dear Steve.’

‘Oh, God...’ Steve mutters, sliding down in his chair. 

‘Dear. Steve.’ Dustin repeats himself with emphasis, glowering across the table at him. ‘I kept seeing that guy I thought was you. Every time I did, I got a little jolt until I finally started to remember it couldn’t be you and then I started resenting seeing him because he wasn’t you.’ Dustin drags in a deep breath: he can hear his voice shaking and he doesn’t want Steve to think he doesn’t _mean_ what he’s saying. ‘He was even a nice guy -- he was in one of my classes and took me to my first gay rights meeting. I wanted the first guy I kissed to be you but I knew that wasn’t gonna happen so I kissed him instead.’ Dustin drops the letter on the table, slaps his hand down over it, and leans across. ‘I don’t think it was as good.’

Steve’s looking straight across the table at him, eyes are wide, almost bright enough for tears, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to cry.

Dustin scrabbles for the next letter, not caring that he’s mixing letters and envelopes, and glances down at it. ‘Dear Steve. You could have fucking _called,_ man. There’s a phone right in my dorm room. I would have picked up and everything.’

‘Dustin--’

‘You didn’t even give me a chance to chew you out for saying you’re stupid when you’re always telling me I can’t say that about myself.’

Steve groans and drops his head into his hands. 

Dustin grabs another letter and waves it at the top of Steve’s head. ‘Dear Steve, please don’t start smoking because I still daydream about kissing you and smokers taste gross.’ He slaps the letter down on the table, the feeling that he could just sit here and answer every single one of these letters starting to ebb out of him. ‘Jesus, Steve.’ He runs a hand back through his hair, feeling the last of the gel give way under his fingers. 

There’s silence again, a strangely comfortable silence this time.

‘So I’m an idiot,’ Steve says finally, pushing his mug away. 

‘We’re both idiots.’ 

Steve nods, then pushes himself up in his chair and starts gathering up the letters. Dustin reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can think about what he’s doing. ‘Stop.’

Steve looks up, eyes wide. ‘What? Why?’ 

‘You’re -- I --’ Dustin stumbles, bites the inside of his lip hard, and tries again. ‘I don’t want you putting all these letters back in a fucking shoebox and saying that’s it. I don’t want to say that’s it.’ 

Steve nods slowly. ‘Okay. So -- what _do_ you want to say?’ 

‘I -- I --’ Dustin licks his lips and watches Steve’s eyes dart to his mouth and then up. That tiny warm feeling in his chest grows. ‘I think we should try kissing again. We seemed pretty good at that.’ 

Steve’s eyes spark for a second but he doesn’t move. ‘Dustin -- Dust, you don’t -- look, if you feel sorry for me --’

‘Fuck that, man!’ Dustin grabs a handful of paper and shakes it in Steve’s face. ‘I’m sitting here thinking about the goddamned _indecency_ laws I’d’ve broken writing answers to these!’

Steve’s cheekbones flush and he catches Dustin’s wrist, dragging him out of his chair and pulling him around the end of the table where Steve can meet him and push his hands around the back of Dustin’s neck, pulling him down so they can kiss again.

Dustin hadn’t realised when they kissed before that, when they’re both standing, he’s ever-so-slightly _taller_ than Steve, just enough that Steve has to tilt his head back for their lips to meet. The realization, Steve’s adjustment to fit himself against Dustin, sends heat straight to his gut. He doesn’t grab for Steve’s shoulders, doesn’t try the width of his palms against the width of Steve’s ribs, but only through sheer strength of will.

Steve breaks away first, panting slightly for breath. ‘Jesus… that other guy didn’t know what he had.’

‘Huh?’ 

‘The -- that other guy you kissed.’ Steve clears his throat. ‘The one who, uh, wasn’t me.’ 

‘Oh! Oh -- God, no, he didn’t. Turned out he was stuck on someone else the whole time.’ Dustin can’t bring himself to care too much about it right now, not with Steve’s hands back on his waist and his own on Steve’s back. 

Steve stiffens slightly. ‘You wanted to stay with him?’ 

Dustin stares at him for a minute, then shakes his head. ‘There was someone else I wanted, too, remember?’ 

Steve flushes and ducks his head. ‘Dustin -- look, you should know I -- I’m not very good at -- I mean, I haven’t _ever_ \-- so who the fuck knows if -- but I mean even with girls, I--’ 

Dustin cuts him off. ‘Look, we’ll make it simple, okay?’ He goes on before his heart can literally pound its way out of his chest. ‘Do -- do you want to -- be here with me?’ He’s not a virgin, hasn’t been for two and a half years, and fuck if asking this question right here and now doesn’t make his knees shake more than saying yes to Scott Stephenson had then. 

Steve looks at him for a long minute and Dustin sees a snatch of that expression he hadn’t understood before. Only now he knows what it is: Steve screwing himself up to something that is going to hurt but has to be done anyway. 

‘Yeah.’ Steve clears his throat. ‘Yeah, I do. I mean.’ He jerks his chin towards the kitchen table. ‘Be pretty stupid to say anything else now.’ He hesitates a moment, then asks in a much quieter voice, ‘You...want to be here?’ 

There’s something almost unbearably fragile in the question, in how Steve’s hands go light on Dustin’s hips as he waits for the answer, like he’s already getting ready to let go. Dustin _hates_ it, hates the doubt in Steve’s voice, hates the tentativeness of Steve’s hands, so he does the first thing he can think of: he slides his hands back into Steve’s hair, ignoring for the moment the sound Steve makes when Dustin touches his scalp, leans down very slightly, and gives Steve the best kiss he can. 

When Dustin’s finally out of breath, and the need for air becomes more pressing than the need for Steve’s mouth, he pulls back. Steve gasps, dragging in air like a swimmer surfacing. 

‘Jesus… _fuck,_ Dustin…’ Steve drags in another breath. ‘You gonna take me to bed or just ravish me in my goddamned kitchen?’ 

The words make Dustin’s skin tingle. ‘Whichever. Whatever. You pick.’ He’ll drop to his knees right the fuck _here_ if that’s what Steve wants.

Steve pulls in one last long breath and nods decisively, grabs Dustin’s hand and turns towards the hall. ‘Bed. Definitely -- bed.’ 

* * *

Dustin expects more awkwardness when they get to the bedroom, Steve a step ahead of him and still holding his hand as though Dustin needs _urging._ The room is mostly dark. What little light there is comes in from a tiny nightlight in the hall behind them and the high, narrow window above the head of the bed, reflections from the arc lamps in the parking lot. 

As they stand at the foot of the bed, close enough that their arms are touching from joined hands to shoulders, there’s a bang that sounds like it’s right beside them and Dustin starts. 

‘Someone’s doing laundry,’ Steve says, squeezing his hand. There’s another bang and a grinding noise that settles into a steady churning sound.

‘This late?’ 

‘They’re not supposed to, but…’ Steve shrugs. ‘Everyone does, more or less.’ 

‘This place _sucks,’_ Dustin says with some fervor. He’s not going to postpone whatever’s about to happen in favor of better surroundings but there’s something deeply dismal about this apartment. 

‘Yeah, I know.’ Steve shrugs again. ‘But, I mean…’ He nods towards the largest dark blur. ‘...there’s a bed.’ He takes a step back and there’s the sound of metal against cloth and then the unmistakeable sound of a zipper.

‘Hey, hey…’ Dustin steps forward.

‘What?’ Steve sounds genuinely confused.

‘What’s your hurry?’ Dustin squeezes Steve’s fingers, urging his hands up and away from his fly. He lets go of Steve’s hands, genuinely reluctant, and finds the hem of his t-shirt, then the stretch of bare skin above the waist of Steve’s jeans, slowly sliding off his hips now the belt isn’t holding them. He rubs his thumb back and forth where the slight dip above Steve’s hipbone starts.

Steve snorts, suppresses the noise, then snorts again, slapping one hand over his mouth. ‘Don’t--!’

‘You’re ticklish?’ Dustin flickers his fingertips.

‘Stop!’ Steve grabs for Dustin’s wrists.

‘Or what?’

‘Or -- or I’ll stop doing this.’ Steve does a slight shimmy and makes a couple of motions with his feet, then steps forward against Dustin, bare skin against denim.

_‘Oh_ fuck--’ Dustin grabs for Steve’s shoulders, his hips, his hands, anything to steady himself, but Steve isn’t helping. His hands are busy at Dustin’s waist, unbuttoning and unzipping and sliding up under Dustin’s shirt, pushing his jeans out of the way. Dustin tries to help, kicking off his shoes into the denim rumple around his ankles, trying to wriggle himself out of his shirt. 

Steve catches his hands and tugs him towards the bed and Dustin finds himself on his back with Steve beside him before he can get anything else off.

Steve lets himself drop onto the mattress as though it’s the easiest thing in the world and Dustin can’t catch his breath. He’s dreamed of this -- literally, woken up aching with it more than once and this is -- this is --

‘What?’ Steve asks quietly, drawing a fingertip down Dustin’s nose. 

‘Better,’ Dustin says, startling himself. ‘So, so much better.’ 

Steve smiles, not his usual all-out grin, but something a little smaller, softer, something Dustin immediately wants to catch and keep and hold for himself. ‘Yeah?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Dustin pushes his hands up under Steve’s shirt again and Steve hisses in through his teeth, then scrambles himself upright and yanks the shirt off, leaving himself in boxers. For a moment as he’s upright in bed, the light from the high window catches him and he _shines_ and Dustin can’t breathe again -- then Steve ducks down again and his mouth is against Dustin’s throat and Dustin _still_ can’t breathe but for entirely different reasons.

Steve pulls open the placket of Dustin’s shirt and kisses his way down as far as he can go then scrabbles at the buttons. ‘Doesn’t this fucking thing come _off?’_

Dustin braces his feet and shoves himself the rest of the way onto the bed, then crosses his arms over his chest, grabs a cuff in each hand, and shrugs his shirt off over his head. Steve catches it and tosses it over his shoulder, ignoring where it goes, leaning forward over Dustin instead. He runs his fingers over Dustin’s collarbone, down the dip of his sternum. ‘Fuck, dude, you grew up pretty.’

Dustin snorts before he can stop himself. ‘You’re nuts.’

‘Eh, maybe. Living here will do that.’ Steve runs his hand over Dustin’s torso, from shoulder to hip, then back up the other side and Dustin has to bite his lip to keep from groaning. Steve grins and does the same thing with slightly more pressure. ‘Feel good?’

‘Fuck, yeah, it feels good,’ Dustin grits out and presses one hand to Steve’s bare breast, feeling the tight pull of a nipple under his palm. ‘See?’ 

Steve hisses in breath again and falls back, throwing his head back against the pillow so Dustin can see the full pale curve of his throat. _‘Fuck,_ D…’

‘I thought I was Dust,’ Dustin says, following the path of his hand with a scattering of kisses. ‘How many nicknames do you have for me?’ 

Steve’s breath comes in short as Dustin reaches his navel. ‘So many -- so _fucking_ many-- _ah!’_

Whatever Steve had been about to say Dustin shortcuts by swirling his tongue over Steve’s navel and licking his way back up along the hollow of abdominal muscle to Steve’s breastbone, pressing his thumbs to Steve’s nipples and feeling the flesh pebble beneath his hands. 

Steve arches under Dustin’s hands, making it irresistibly easy for Dustin to lean over and take one of Steve’s nipples in his mouth, mouthing and licking until Steve’s breath is coming in sobbing gasps and Dustin can’t stop himself digging his fingers into the flesh of Steve’s sides. He’s never been with a man this sensitive before and Steve’s shuddering responsiveness is making Dustin’s fucking _toes_ curl. 

‘Ho-holy shit, holy _shit,_ D--’ Steve’s fingers knot in Dustin’s hair and pull him away and up and back to Steve’s lips. Dustin lets himself be moved although he’s pretty sure he could insist on staying where he was if he exerted himself. Steve’s as wiry as he ever was, but Dustin’s put on muscle, even if it’s still a little padded. Hey, sundaes are always going to taste better than barbells feel: that’s his philosophy. 

Here and now, Steve’s fingers are insistent in his hair, winding in and tugging at his curls until Dustin can feel his pulse in his cock and wonders if he honestly could come like this, just from Steve kissing him and playing with his hair. He doesn’t remember feeling like _this_ with his former partners: not oversensitized and sparking all over, not like he wanted to lick and suck and kiss and _devour_ them any way they’d have him. 

He’s just trying to figure out how to ask if Steve feels the same way when Steve flat-out _whimpers_ against his mouth and _shoves_ himself bodily against Dustin. Dustin gives with the push until he’s stopped by a ruck of blankets and comforter and sheet -- apparently Steve didn’t make his bed this morning but whatever, it hardly matters in comparison to the heat pressing into the soft space above Dustin’s hip. 

‘I -- I don’t -- I --’ Steve’s trying to say something, his face pressed close to Dustin’s throat. 

‘What?’ Dustin pulls himself onto his side and curls forward. The movement presses his thigh between Steve’s, and Steve swallows something like a howl and Dustin realises he doesn’t really need to ask the question. 

Instead, he fumbles between them until he can pull Steve’s boxers down and he can feel sticky heat on his fingertips, a sweet slickness when he presses his thumb against swollen hot skin and Steve’s hips jerk hard against him. He can feel Steve’s fingers skitter and slide and shove until Dustin’s boxers are around his knees and they’re pressed together, skin to skin, shoulder to thigh. 

Dustin closes his eyes, presses his face against Steve’s shoulder, mouths helplessly against Steve’s skin. There are things he should be doing, things he should be _offering_ to Steve, showing him how good this can be, so he’ll want it again -- again and again and again and--

‘Jesus, Dustin--’ Steve is panting against his ear, his fingers suddenly entwined with Dustin’s, pulling their hands together around their cocks, pressing their fingers tight, riding out the thrust of Steve’s hips and, Dustin realises foggily, of his own. ‘Jesus -- just -- just like this -- just -- stay -- like this -- oh _God--’_

Dustin manages to raise his head at the last minute, pushing his mouth against Steve’s as Steve’s cock pulses liquid heat over Dustin’s knuckles. Steve moans into Dustin’s mouth as he comes, a long, guttural sound, but he doesn’t pull his hand away and he uses his own slick to pull the orgasm out of Dustin who can’t really believe he’s _coming in Steve Harrington’s hand_ until he has and it’s over and he’s on his back staring up at a ceiling he can’t really see, panting for breath, Steve a heavy weight against his shoulder. 

They breathe together for a few long minutes, until the air of the room starts to feel chilly and Steve grunts, wriggling until he can drag the bedclothes from under them.

‘Your sheets--’ Dustin says halfheartedly as the cotton touches the mess on his thigh and Steve just groans and collapses against his shoulder again, pulling the blankets up around their shoulders.

‘I live next to the laundry room, remember?’ 

‘Right.’ 

‘So relax. We’ll wash ‘em tomorrow.’ Steve pats at Dustin’s shoulder in a vague kind of way. ‘I’ll even let you do it since you feel bad about it.’

Dustin snorts before he can help himself. ‘What a gentleman.’

‘That’s me,’ Steve says, mostly against the side of Dustin’s neck. ‘Gen’l’man to the core.’ He throws his leg over Dustin’s thigh, apparently indifferent to the cooling slick between them. 

Dustin grimaces and shoves at Steve’s shoulder. ‘C’mon, let me clean us up.’

Steve grumbles but goes with the push and Dustin stumbles into the bathroom, wincing as he turns on the light. He finds a washcloth -- probably the one Steve’s been using, but whatever -- and waits for the water in the sink to run warm. He peers at himself as he waits and flushes as he sees the marks Steve’s left on his shoulders, his throat, bite marks rapidly darkening. 

He gives himself a rough swipe down in the bathroom, snaps off the light, and takes the freshened cloth in to Steve. 

Steve grumbles again as Dustin pushes back the bedclothes and gives him a cursory once-over, then drops the washcloth on the floor and climbs back into bed. Steve makes a satisfied noise this time and wraps himself over Dustin again.

Dustin stares at the ceiling for a few minutes before he can’t stop himself. ‘So, uh...think you might want to do this again sometime?’ He tries to make it sound light, even though it must be well past midnight and nothing light happens after midnight and they’re probably well past the point of them pretending this is anything light at any time of day. 

Steve takes a snuffling breath, then scrubs his forehead against Dustin’s shoulder, pushing himself up on one elbow. ‘You were the one who said you wanted to answer all my letters. I’m holding you to that.’ He looks down at Dustin for a long moment until Dustin, speechless, nods. Then Steve nods in reply and folds himself back onto Dustin’s shoulder. ‘Okay, then.’


End file.
